Today is the anniversary of my first miscarriage… My boss accidentally triggered me by giving me a rose… I’m in a lot of pain because I ignored doctor’s orders and took a shower and reopened my burn… I started Satan’s waterfall at work and have no pads with me… My disphoria is off the charts today… The kids are driving me crazy, and if I hear one more, “Why?” I might just scream…

I understand not all dreams have interpretations or deep meanings, some are literally just what’s on your mind, but in an effort to better help me, my therapist has asked that I keep a dream journal.

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of death and associated items

I was back in the void. (That’s what I call it. I don’t know if it’s another world or plane or just what I dream up when my brain gets lazy, but it’s blackness in every direction, up, down, left, right, no floors, no walls, just emptiness.)

My body was in a coffin, no lid, and I was observing from a standing position outside of my body to the right. My body was lying on its stomach, arms crossed across the chest.

This song kept playing over and over and over ad nauseum. It was the Doctor Who parody of If I Die Young.

If I die young, bury me in the TARDIS. Lay me down on a bed of bowties. Sink me in the time vortex at dawn. Send me away with a Galifreyan love song.

Everyone always says that hindsight is 20/20, but is it really? You can think about all the things you could have done differently, all the things you should have done differently, all the things you would change, but you can never gauge someone else’s reaction.

You think you know a person, but can you ever really know them?

All I can say is that I miss you, all of you…

I want to know if you miss me too, but I would not wish this kind of broken heart on my worst enemy…

So, I’d like to request one of you more artistic guys to draw a picture for me…

Yesterday morning, I was pulling on my binder, and in my rush, I got stuck in the Superman position: arms over my head like I was getting ready to fly, and my husband had to help me fix it… And I got to thinking, what if Superman were a transguy like me? I’m stuck in the closet at work, too many transphobics; so I spend most days at work in a skirt and being called Ms. [dead name], it can get so frustrating… and when I get home and I can switch into my binder and guy clothes, I feel so free it’s almost like I’m flying…

I imagine my Superman like that… Stuck at the Daily Planet in a pencil skirt, but whenever the day needs saving, he can run into a phone booth, pull on his binder, with some minor difficulties of course, and fly off free to be his true self…

Would someone be willing to draw something like that for me? Maybe three images: before (going to work disguised as a woman), during (struggling to put on binder in phone booth), and after (flying free as Superman)…

Also, are there any transgender superheros? I know there are gay ones, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a trans one…

And I’m not sure it’s a bad thing… Yes, they scare me. Yes, sometimes they trap me. Yes, sometimes they invade my real world… But what about the ones that really mean something? They are intended to bring me a message and how can I chicken out when I may be all that is standing in the gap between life and death for someone else?

When I was young, I prayed every day for two things: to be a boy and to have someone love me for who I am. Almost five years ago, I thought I settled for what I was stuck with: a female body and a man who could never accept me for who I was because I could never show him. It wasn’t until recently that I learned that my prayers came true.

While some days are still hard and disphoria eats me alive, I am proud to know that one day this man will be able to walk down the aisle with his spouse and say his vows in a suit. Now I know we discussed you getting to wear a white suit, but do you mind if I wear a black one?